Certain periods in history suddenly lift humanity to an observation point where a clear light falls upon a world previously dark.

You cannot touch the clouds, you know; but you feel the rain and know how glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day. You cannot touch love either; but you feel the sweetness that it pours into everything. Without love you would not be happy or want to play.

You can't touch love, but you can feel the sweetness that it pours into everything.

We all like stories that make us cry. It's so nice to feel sad when you've nothing in particular to feel sad about.

Is it not true, then, that my life with all its limitation touches at many points the life of the World Beautiful? Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be, therein to be content.

It is a rare privilege to watch the birth, growth, and first feeble struggles of a living mind; this privilege is mine.

I'd rather break stones on the king's highway than hem a handkerchief.